


Motion Sickness

by JuxtaposedNova



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Open Heart fanfiction, no beta we die like spartans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposedNova/pseuds/JuxtaposedNova
Summary: Calypso thinks about the implications of being a doctor after Dolores’ death and what it means to be working underneath the great Ethan Ramsey.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Motion Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> It's like some secret door, well it just appeared. So, no matter what I do from now on with my time, you will always stay here in my mind. I am certain of this and I am not certain of anything.
> 
> If you like the story, feel free to leave kudos or a comment.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Running her fingers along the spine of the worn book, she let out a sigh. She turned it over, gazing into the letters that depicted the title as if they held the revelation she so desperately desired. They mocked her, reflecting to her the caffeine stains on its cover and the name of its author in white, bold, computerised calligraphy.

She’d return the book to Landry as soon as she was done with it. Part of her suspected he’d lose his mind if he thought it lost – and she truly understood. The bloody thing had been her lifeline through her last years of med school, and she treasured it greatly.

The sound of a car honking in the distance, away from the skyline view of her bedroom, forced her to make a mental note to ask her mother to mail her book to her before the year ended. She had a feeling she’d be needing it, even just as emotional support.

Almost tentatively, she opened the book and let her gaze soften as she read the message Dr. Ethan Ramsey had written on the first page. _Don’t let me down._

Her throat grew tight and dry, as if being pushed between pillars of sand, and she allowed her tears to escape past her eyes freely. She hadn’t allowed herself catharsis back at the hospital, but she could allow it in the safety of her disorganized bedroom. The mess itself brought her comfort, letting her know it was lived in. Letting her know she lived.

She could only wonder what a nursery would look like amid the chaos of motherhood.

The thought was uninvited, intrusive, and overflowing with guilt no matter how much she had tried to reason it had been beyond her control, that there was nothing that could’ve been said to change the outcome. Sometimes, it didn’t matter what you knew, what you felt just took over.

Dolores Hudson had died under her care and her baby boy was bereft of a mother. Left with nothing but pictures of her, wondering what her laugh sounded like, what her comforting embrace felt like. Left with nothing but the name of a man who had cherished her.

Innocence would be torn from him earlier than it would be from those who had the luxury of knowing the true influence of a mother’s love.

A dozen scenarios tormented her, telling her that she could’ve done more – that she could’ve ignored Dolores’ arguments and taken her directly to surgery instead of allowing her to take charge. She should’ve listened to herself when she debated the right choice. She should’ve found that frog plushie sooner. She should’ve trusted her instincts.

All were equal in the eyes of death, deserving of it or not. There was no death that didn’t generate memory. No death that didn’t leave something to be grasped, to be learned, to be rejoiced behind. It was human mortality that drove them with an insatiable lust for life and experience.

It had been mortality that had moved her to sit beside baby Ethan all night, letting him clutch her thumb just so he had something to hold onto with his small fingers. Anything that would substantiate his will to stay and experience what his mother could not.

Long had she wondered what the great Ethan Ramsey was like. The calls and praises of his success had reached her all the way to the other side of the world. He personified everything she aspired to be as a doctor and so much more. The man himself was a force to be reckoned with, unmoving, powerful, determined, terrifying…and _kind_.

The latter had been a surprise to her after their first interaction. She had been scolded in the middle of the hallway, covered in someone else’s blood, and thinking that it was 7-fucking-AM. The words he had said to her had been much more powerful than the visuals that had been laid before her. She had been unable to recognize him despite having spent hours listening to him speak at conference’s through the screen of her laptop.

But his demeanour towards his patients was entirely different. He smiled, he listened, he cared, and he protected them. It was the side of him she somehow knew him to seldom show to others. It was the almost naïve gleam in his eyes as he reported back to her that his patient had accepted to take her pills after he handed her the cup of hot cocoa she had sworn by.

And yet, as he sat beside her, staring into the plastic box that kept the baby’s lungs moving, she had known him to be kinder than he thought himself. Kinder and lonelier than he would ever let others see. Perhaps it had been nothing but wishful thinking, but she liked to fancy herself a good judge of character.

She had silently archived the sad shock that overcame him upon reading the name tag, upon realizing the true meaning of the role he had played in Dolores’ life. He had done his best to comfort her, sharing with her his first loss. That simple interaction, the sharing of grief, had built a bridge that would allow them to find each other once again should the need or desire arise. It led to seeking refuge in an internal world of their own to reconnect with their past, and from there, face the future.

The weaving of string, of a mere touch, had intertwined them into a fate neither of them would be able to avoid.

Afterward he had left to grab them some coffee, joking about the poor quality of the cafeteria’s dishwater. She had chuckled wetly, closing her eyes and shaking her head, – and listened to his footsteps fade in the echo of the halls, the pens he carried on his coat’s pocket jumping with every step he took.

It was, then, that she had truly allowed herself to dwell on him. To think of the crease in his forehead as he focused on a particularly troubling diagnosis, to think of the way the bridge of his nose acquired a pinkish hue when his fingers released their hold on it, to that one hair strand that rebelliously drifted away from an otherwise flawless hairstyle, to the endearingly mismatched checkered pants and polka dot tie, to the almost imperceptible smile lines on his countenance, and the stubble that framed a chiselled jaw. 

A beautiful mind with an equally beautiful face to match.

She had known a fair number of people like that throughout her life, but somehow, Dr. Ramsey was highlighted like the most important statement of a paragraph in her anatomy textbooks. He was magnetic, electric, untameable. He was an amalgam of the greatness in his life that built him into the magnificence of his present.

To think she now worked with him was something beyond what her dreams would ever be able to conjure. For starters, she hadn’t expected him to be such a cynic, but there was hardly anything she could do to change that.

Recalling the scent of coffee upon his return, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. He had asked her to try and identify the flavours of his brew, of the dark liquid swirling around in an Edenbrook cup as she gently took it from him. It was sweet, smoky with a hint of chocolate.

Silently, they had agreed that a shift of conversation would be required if they were to emotionally survive the night alongside the physical manifestation of Dolores’ love.

So, they spoke about ubiquity: about routines, food, general data, and art. He asked about her accent, she asked about his book. He asked about her expectations, she asked about his mistakes. He asked about her favourite novel, she asked about his taste in music. He asked about her about her hospital choice, she reciprocated.

It was mindless and effortless. It was an escape from time.

Until her head had fallen on his shoulder during a moment of silence, and she let sleep consume her consciousness and worry into oblivion. Blaming it on exhaustion, she convinced herself that the weight she had felt on top of her head was nothing more than her imagination and not Ethan falling asleep on her.

When she awoke with the sound of his deep voice, she caught the scent of his cologne drenched into her own clothing and skin.

Drenched into the smile she gifted him when they confirmed baby Ethan had made it through the night. They had made it.

How could she have known that the ocean filling his eyes was more than the colour inked into his irises? How could she have known that she would fall into the water and let the air be taken from her lungs into song?

There was something about the brokenness shared that carefully crafted a golden hope inside of her.

A hope for more than a life saved – for something she dared not utter in the confines of her mind. A certainty that she had not let him down, and most importantly, herself.

Moving forward, she’d do well to remember it.

Turning the pages, she found Landry’s flawless multicoloured highlighting technique and multiple sticky notes with comments and inquiries attached to them. He was certainly a lot more organized than she had been, for hers was covered with rushed writing and coffee stains on every page. Perhaps she’d get Dr. Ramsey to sign her copy.

Tracing her fingertips over his name, she smiled to herself and closed the book.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to read my stories before I post them here, find me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://droppedmydamncroissant.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll be happy to add you to my tag list.


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